


this is me playing nice

by Illusively (Hermia)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Asphyxiation, F/M, Frottage, Interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermia/pseuds/Illusively
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cassandra's attempts at getting Varric to spill important details about Hawke and their lot bleed from the verbal to the physical, she finds herself opposing a very horny dwarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is me playing nice

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic ages ago for the Dragon Age kink meme, but I'm only just getting around to posting it for some reason. Probably so I can access it more easily whenever I want to dip into it again!

"And so Hawke spent the day running around Lowtown, much like the day before and the day before that..."  
  
Cassandra leveled a glare at the dwarven storyteller, her arms folded imperiously beneath her breasts and jaw set. He'd been going on about this for hours, about how Hawke went from person to person petitioning for help, nearly begging for employment enough to supply Bartrand with the coin he needed to begin the expedition. He made the Champion sound like no more than a desperate refugee. Which, in hindsight, was probably the truth, but she didn't care about how 'difficult' it was for a Fereldan to get well-paying work in Kirkwall. She wanted to know about what happened in the Deep Roads. She wanted to know about what came after that.  
  
Her gaze flicked to the guards standing near the door. They acknowledged her with a slight nod of their shiny helmeted heads. "Leave us," she said, voice ringing out in the blessed silence. Exiting without a word, the two shut the door being them, and she inclined her head at the sound of a key turning in the lock.  
  
"Time alone? Already? Seeker, I'm  _flattered_."  
  
She did not move so much as a muscle. Instead, she stood there, leaning just barely against the heavy wooden table across from him, glowering in all of her frustration. When she spoke, her tone was commanding, a given having come from a family of many siblings and trained by one of the louder instructors in Orlais, so far from her native Nevarra. "Hold your tongue."  
  
"I was under the impression that was the last thing you wanted me to do," Varric replied without missing a beat, head tilting slightly to the side. "You brought me here to talk, and now you want me to shut up? You should make up your mind, Cass."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "I only ask that you cease your prattling and listen," she said, giving a dismissive wave with a gauntleted hand. "You're here because of your constant proximity to Hawke and nothing more. You are  _not_  here because I'm interested in being jerked around for the sake of one of your epic tales. If you do not cooperate, you'll find yourself regretting the decision, but it'd be no skin off of my back."  
  
A silky sound originated in that blighted throat of his. He was actually laughing at her, his face cracking into a charming smile, lines forming around his eyes and mouth. "Aren't you sweet?"  
  
" _Tell me about the Deep Roads expedition, dwarf,_ " the Seeker growled, her arms unfolding and falling to her sides only to grip at the edge of the table. She could feel her knuckles scraping over the insides of her gauntlets, already rubbed raw from her nearly constant flexing. They'd been at this since the morning, and she was already fit to be tied. There was only so much fetching this and gathering that and helping this person tie their boots that she could handle.  
  
"You have no sense of the dramatic," he said simply, chest rising and falling with an almost disappointed sigh. "There's no sense of achievement after climbing a hill, not after traversing mountains. How else am I supposed to enjoy myself?"  
  
At that, Cassandra pushed herself away from the table, advancing on him with a suddenness that would have startled someone else. Varric remained infuriatingly disinterested. She came to an immediate halt in front of him, towering over him with a sneer curled at her dark lips. "This isn't about you!" she shouted. He simply looked up at her, not threatened in the slightest. "The Champion let loose every mage in Kirkwall, and you're worried about novelty!?"  
  
"What do you  _want_  me to sa -"  
  
The question was only mostly removed from his tongue when Cassandra's hand shot out, palm pressing into his throat with such speed that his head hit the back of the stone chair with a dull  _thunk_. He felt a pained groan make its way up from his toes, but it stopped. It was stuck. Her fingers were pushing too hard against the sides of his neck, palm exerting so much pressure that it took all he had just to breathe. "I don't want you to say  _anything_. You're going to listen."  
  
Leaning closer to him, her hand ground even harder against his throat, nostrils flaring when she heard the groan finally surface. His normally flushed cheeks paled and his eyelids fluttered, a little gasp of a breath cut off by the side of her hand digging upwards beneath his jaw.   
  
"I brought you here to help me understand the motives of the Champion." They were so close now he could see her eye twitch. It was impossible, even with his air mostly cut off, to keep from noticing the surprisingly deep lines around them, and there was even a part of him that considered the color before she realized he was distracted and shoved her other hand into his shoulder. Still, he could smell her - the heady scent of thyme oil soap mixed with _pissed off._    
  
He wasn't listening to her. Not completely. She could tell by the distant look in his eye, one she was certain had nothing to do with his lack of oxygen. Still, she relaxed her hold just enough for him to take a few short gasps of air before she pressed even closer to him. Before he had time to do more than blink, she was straddling his thighs, kneeling on either side of the stone chair, her full lips twisted in a snarl. "I want to know why she let the Warden live," she continued, "I want you to explain to me why she accepted total destruction and complete anarchy when she was the  _viscountess_."  
  
Her words trailed off as her eyes settled on Varric's face. The flush returned to the apples of his cheeks, chin tilted up instead of down in the direction she was forcing it. And he was moving.  
  
"Listen to me!" As her shout rang out in the otherwise empty room, her hand left his throat, fingers flexing outward as she lifted it to slap him. The dwarf's chest heaved, gasping and moaning and laughing all at the same time. Her hand hovered in midair, watching him closely as he recovered, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip before looking up at her. Brow twitching upwards, she swore she saw a hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.   
  
Varric couldn't believe this was happening. He was perfectly fine taunting this Chantry Seeker from afar. He was used to snatching intense responses from the icy; Hawke's dear friend Fenris had proven time and time again that this was indeed possible. But he hadn't expected that. And he damn well didn't expect to like it.  
  
Cassandra, however, was not having it. Not only was he not listening, but he was being cocky about it.  _How_  cocky, she wasn't entirely sure until she shifted absently, nerves frayed to the point of fidgeting, and felt a decidedly large bulge pressing against her thigh. He was more than surprised when she didn't wallop him right there. Her lips parted, bearing the slightest bit of teeth. She wasn't happy with this showing by any means, but at least she'd refrained from hitting him. "Are you  _serious_?"  
  
"As a qunari," he replied. His voice was even huskier than usual and hinged on another, softer moan as his hips gave an involuntary rock forward. He knew he was playing with fire. Cassandra was going to either kill him, beat him, or fuck him senseless. Frankly, after traveling with Hawke for so long, those were damn good odds.  
  
What she did next took him completely by surprise, and he didn't make it a point to  _be_  surprised anymore. He thought he'd seen everything, from walking in on Fenris giving Isabela an impromptu and less-than-graceful strip tease to Bethany nearly bursting out of her top from bending over to pick up a silver, from blood mages to possessed templars and every little thing in between. Now his legs were cuffed to this Seeker's chair and he was being interrogated. How could anything surprise him?  
  
But she did. A pink tongue slid out of her mouth and passed over her full bottom lip before tugging at it with her teeth. Was she as turned on by all of this as he was? Because  _if so..._  
  
The dwarf gave a grunt of displeasure when all of a sudden her forearm barred across his throat, pushing him back against the chair. She wasn't toying around this time. Or, rather, she was toying around even less than she had been before. That realization was capitalized by the sensation of her body shifting closer to his, the heavy leather of her armor weighing her down on top of him.  
  
"You're going to pay attention to me now, Tethras."  
  
Cassandra's mouth was at his ear, knees bent, hips pressing heavy circles into his flesh. Her thickly accented words warmed his ears as his arms pressed against the chair, lifting his hips to take advantage of the angle. Even with her forearm pressed so roughly into his throat, he managed a guttural moan. The sound pushed her to press against him even more. "You're going to tell me what I want to know. I don't want the details. I want _scope,_  do you understand?"  
  
When he didn't immediately reply, whether with a nod or a shake of his head, her body jerked. In one fluid movement, she withdrew her arm and shoved her hand just beneath his jaw, fingers flexing inward until she swore she saw his eyes widen in astonishment. But he still didn't reply. The smug bastard wanted to say something.  
  
The moment she let go of him, Varric coughed and gave his head a shake, desperate to regain whatever blood flow he'd lost from Cass' position. "Scope? I can do scope..."  
  
"Except?" she pressed after his words fell into silence.  
  
"I can do scope if you get me off," he muttered, brows twitching inward until a tiny wrinkle formed in between them. "Chantry tease."  
  
He was waiting for her to slap him, to punch him until his skull cracked on that Maker-forsaken chair, but she kept hesitating. How a woman of her particular caliber found the patience within herself not to wreck his face with her no doubt tough knuckles would be an interesting question to save for later. Right now, he was too busy imagining what she looked like under that armor of hers. Muscular, he imagined, but soft in all the right places if her thighs were any sign. He could very nearly feel them parted over his own, all pale and yielding as she rode him like a purebred.  
  
The thought had him moaning again, even before she had time to respond to his offer. She wasn't interested in slowing down, either, even to consider what he had to say. She could care less about getting him off; she just wanted the truth. She didn't like resorting to these particular measures to get the truth out of someone, but he'd very nearly handed her the key to whatever secrets he was holding. The dwarf's underlying blanket of machismo would bend whatever way she wanted it once she added a little heat. A little friction.  
  
Her hands moved to his throat, fingers almost gently stroking over the sides of his neck as she stared down at him, watching his face as closely as she could. She knew how to read people. She knew every single twitch of a face. How to tell if someone was lying, how to tell if someone was nervous or hiding something. Varric was also good at reading people, which made reading him almost impossible.  
  
At the moment, he had more pressing matters to worry about, and his face betrayed whatever aloof mask he'd chosen to wear. She peered down at him as his expression shifted, lips parting as her thumbs rolled over the apple of his throat and pressed into the very center. A feeble little whimper left him as he gasped and bucked forward to meet her own, much smoother movements. "Very well," she murmured, letting go of his throat for long enough to hear him nearly shout in pleasure as she jerked her hips forward and  _ground_  against his erection. "I want the truth. Are you going to give me the truth?"  
  
"I'll give you the fucking truth," Varric rasped, fingers flexing outward as his nerves seemed to spark beneath his skin, tingling all the way down to his palms. Rocking his hips upward to meet hers, he gasped, throat burning so much it  _nearly_  shut him up. Nearly. The pleasure was too damn intense to keep quiet, though, and his head pressed back into the chair, the crown of his skull still tender from before. "Just -- just...  _oh, yes, **shit**_."  
  
"You're going to come," she very nearly purred, allowing him a few breaths. The worn leather that covered her fingertips felt even better smoothing down his throat and over his chest than he'd imagined. "And then you're going to sidestep all of this  _bullshit_  and tell me what I want to know."  
  
He was getting used to being interrupted by her. It annoyed him at first, but he couldn't begin to be frustrated with a woman like her sat astride him, even if she was trying to get something out of him that he was not ready to part with. Not yet. His lips split to reply, but she was already digging her forearm into his throat again, face bent so close that he could nearly feel her lips against his. Instead of worded compliance, all he could manage was a nod as his eyes rolled back into his head and his hips stuttered.   
  
"Come," Cassandra growled as she rolled her hips, brows knitting together as she continued her assault. She could feel how tense he was, and that only drove her to increase her pace.  
  
But she knew you couldn't take advantage of your prisoners (or, in Varric's case, the interrogated) without offering them the smallest measure of kindness. Getting him off was nearly virtuous from where she was sitting, but she knew she had to do something more, something to aid in loosening his tongue, something to tease the entire truth out of him.  
  
Relaxing her arm, Cass watched his face as he took a sharp breath, fingers clutching at her thighs as she rocked against him. No matter the thrill it'd given him before, the ability to breathe was met with an almost serene expression if not for the mottled pink of his cheeks and the roughened groans that left him every time they met. No sooner was he able to take a deep breath again when her lips sealed over his, tongue sliding in without hesitance or hindrance. In fact, it was as if he'd expected such a thing.  
  
Varric could barely manage to return the kiss before his entire body stiffened, driven to the edge by the hot, dampness of her mouth and her even more pointed grinding against his cock. A strangled sound of pleasure left him as he came, hands pushing her away in a wordless plea to not touch him; the immediate sensitivity was almost too much to bear.  
  
His entire body was shaking and tingling and on fire at the very same time. How she'd managed to garner such a reaction from him in a scant few minutes alone was beyond him. Maybe he would never understand it. Though he was more than eager to attempt another go at comprehension at a later time or date.  
  
He looked up at her as she stepped off of the chair. Disheveled blonde strands hung into his eyes, his mouth parted and chest heaving as he cobbled together his words to say something. Anything.  
  
"So..." he croaked, his throat far past burning and scratchy beyond belief. "What was that for again?"  
  
Cassandra's face shifted from the curious, almost-soft look that'd overtaken her features as she watched him to a sneer. Varric found himself wishing the former would return, though he dusted that thought away immediately. She wasn't the kind of woman who wore that face often, and especially not for someone like him. "Watch yourself, dwarf. Next time you jerk me around, I might not be so generous."  
  
"That was generous?" He gave a huff of a laugh, groaning as he passed his hand over his thigh. "I'd hate to see what you'd do to me if you were having a bad day."  
  
"Oh, you'll be well-aware when it happens."  
  
A thick brow arched high on the storyteller's forehead. "Yeah, I'm sure I will," he replied, clearing his throat with a wince. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of trousers lying around, would you? Stewing in my own seed during an interrogation doesn't sound like my idea of a good time."  
  
Cassandra's head tilted, her own brows drifting upwards in a challenge as her arms folded beneath her breasts again.   
  
"Okay, okay, Maker's breath, it's not like I was asking you to lick it off of me."  
  
Much to his (continued) surprise, his comment was met with a throaty, feminine chuckle. When he looked to her, eyes widened and an expression of delight on his face, the sound stopped immediately, though the tiny smile that quirked in the corner of her mouth remained. "Continue, Varric."


End file.
